Trivia I find Ignored

Monthly Archives: March 2012

It has occurred to me, recently, that, unlikely as it seems, I am not quite as normal as I thought myself to be. Somewhere between the awe and the jealousy, it became clear that people just aren’t comfortable around me.

It has little to do with appearance – all right maybe more than a little. I am six feet two, I can see how that is demeaning for some. I don’t blame ’em, I’d be furious if I got trumped without a match – not that we are having a contest or anything, but it does have its advantages; being tall.

As a man in his forties kindly pointed out to me, it would do me good to stop rubbing it in everyone’s face. Or they’ll find my body in the dumpster across the street one fateful day. And the celebration that would follow would go on for forty days and forty nights. The man was a bit tipsy at the time, so I won’t take his word for it.

In front of anyone I know or would probably know before I’m dead – I am like the vision of perfection. Straight As, no drugs, no mentally impaired friends. It gets better as the list goes on. As far as they can tell, I am the best thing that has ever happened to them.

Yes, I am that guy, no argument. But being that guy is no fun. You can try it sometime, you’ll get bored to death in less than a week. Life’ll be dull, and before you know it you’ll end up in a rehab center, with a wheezing old homeless dude whose eyes look both ways.

So, not to die of sheer boredom, I took up a hobby. Not your average hobby, by any means, but a stroke of genius. How I came across this particular notion is a story for another time. And a depressing one too, so you probably won’t be hearing it anytime soon. I am in a good mood these days. And my gut tells me it’ll last.

I make up for being me, by being the most embarrassingly honest young lad around. Innocent, as it may seem, its surprising how the results are never anything less than hysterical. I make sure people know its all in good humor. They understand; at least, I think they do.

Just the other day, I informed the milkman what exactly the townspeople thought of him. If you ask him, harsh words. If you ask me, fair warning.

The banker didn’t seem too pleased with the knowledge of the endeavors of his youngest son. But then again, fathers never are.

If you stop and think about it, its not that bad. Since when was being honest wrong? Though tell that to the merry folks who hang out at my usual cafe, and they’ll rip your face off; if they’re in a particularly forgiving mood.

People around me have the most peculiar sense of casual talk. I get talking about clothes, about national affairs, about the soccer team or even puberty issues. What I don’t get is people talking about other people – who are very much dead.

I admit that I hear more news of people dying than I hear weather updates, but that isn’t a reason to go on and on about death. Its kinda hard to laugh at a joke when two seats away a man is mourning the mother who passed away ten years ago. It’s a buzz-kill if there ever was one.

True, the talk about death is alarming at first, but then you get used it to the point that you forget ever being weirded out. It’s natural. Despite that, the talk is never helps the appetite. I have nothing against dead people, at least not yet. Its not exactly routine to hold a grudge against the dead, but I’m finding the task increasingly easy with each day that passes.

Without fail, the gist of the conversations concerning the dead are dripping with sugar. No matter if the person in question is a world famous serial killer, after death, they usually are in league with the most pious saints that walked the face of the earth.

I remember a lady that used to live in a cottage nearby. Mad old bat she was, if I dare say so myself. But after the blessed event of her death, she was talked about like mother Teresa’s reincarnation.

Did you hear about the poor old woman that died a week ago, what a sweet lady she was, I always saw her tending to the plants along the driveway.

I think I must have missed that, I was too busy watching her beat the stray dog shitless. Seemed more important at the time. My mistake.

I remember the days when I used to watch cartoons in the living room. Not a care in the world. And the best part was, nobody intruded in my designated few hours.

But for better or worse, those days are long gone. And it didn’t take a whole lot of decision making on anyone’s part. One day, the living room was loud as ever. Second day, there was a lot of banging and everybody was an electrician all of a sudden. Third day … the house was quieter than a funeral home – and that hasn’t changed since. Nobody bothered to fix the broken television, which wasn’t really a conscious decision, more like a testament to the laziness that runs in the family.

I can’t say I miss it. Because surprisingly, I don’t. I have grown used to the peaceful hours I spend glued to the computer screen. Out of the frying pan, indeed.

The purpose behind the above is to give a general idea of how alien I am to television. Now, I don’t have anything against the thing – But I don’t really have anything for it either. Anything it can do, my pc can do better. More efficient too. Though there are certain legal issues that I haven’t quite figured out yet, but we’re getting to that.

So, yesterday, I went out to meet a relative of mine. Now, please note that this particular relative’s house is noisy. And not just noisy, make-your-ears-bleed noisy. I usually pretend I’m not there, and it works most of the time. But yesterday, I was not feeling all that well to even chance a wayward question. So, I slipped out when no one was looking, into another room. With nothing else to keep me busy, I turned on the tv and flipped through channels to find something of my taste. I settled with a cricket match. Pakistan vs India is always thrilling.

But it gets downright depressing when your side starts to lose. But thankfully before the painful finish, there was a black out – which was pretty darn lucky, if you ask me. The looks of horror I saw on the faces the next day, told me I had been fortunate to miss the drop scene.

Before the black out, there was a commercial on, one of those that keeps you hanging on every word its entire duration. This commercial featured a smartphone. Galaxy nexus. now before the ad was over, I found myself deeply in love with the device. Its sleek and shiny surface and its groundbreaking new display. Its operating system, you name it. I loved it all.

Now before I go further let me tell you that when I buy something that considerably empties my pockets, I do a long hard research. Which usually takes weeks on end. So, with my phone, before I bought it, I knew all its competitors’ pros and cons by heart. It’s called being extensive.

I recalled why I hadn’t chosen the other phone instead of my current one. And all the reasons started feeling small, even worthless. But then it dawned on me.

When I was back in the peace of my room, I looked up ads for my iPhone, long and hard searches lead to me to one I really liked. I watched it once, I watched it twice. And voila!, I loved my phone again. Just like that. Well, it can’t get any easier than this. Every time you feel sick of your belongings, find an ad from when it came out.

Just to make sure it was not a coincidence, I looked up another ad of my 4 year old refrigerator. And just as anticipated, I began to appreciate the silver lining around the edges, the cool whiff it gave off every time I opened the deep freeze. Even the gentle buzz seemed less annoying.

I can’t figure out if this just me over-thinking things – because that has happened too often for comfort – or is there some truth in my discovery.

Part of what makes me anti-social is that I don’t like pictures taken of me – there’s nothing philosophical about it – I just don’t.

I’m not ugly – but I’m not exactly what you call prince charming either. But looks are not the reason. I have hated it since I was six years old. I was never eager to get into family shots and if I did, I made sure I was at the very back, in the shade. I think it’s safe to say I was not exceptionally self-conscious at that age. Kids seldom are. It’s not that I’m not a camera person – though I can’t say for sure considering I never even gave it a try.

I don’t like seeing myself from the camera’s point of view. It offends me. The idea, somehow reminds me of ‘face off’ – if anybody has seen that. I see pictures taken of me when I was young, really young. Before six. And the sight is not pretty. Ever.

The last thing I want to do is share my pictures – the few I’ve been unable to get rid of – on the internet. My cyber friends totally get that, though in their minds it’s about anonymity; to the contrary, it’s much more elemental. But I suppose being anonymous is an added bonus, the satisfaction I get of knowing that in people’s minds I am the kid from the blog header is priceless. I am what I chose to be.

One of the reasons why I like eating out is because of the whole “no camera” thing the hotels have got going. I know photographers wouldn’t exactly jump up and start flashing cameras the first moment they saw me, but with that notion out of the equation, the food tastes better.

A little while back, I was going on a college trip and the buses that were to take us, were running late. Out of sheer boredom people pulled out their cameras. One thing led to another and there was something like a photo shoot going on in less than three minutes. For memories sake, students paired up with professors. When everybody was done and finished, one professor, who did not know me very well looked at me expectantly.

I was lurking in the shadows the entire time and that professor found it odd that the sarcastic one was the one hiding out.

He called out and I approached. He inquired. I tried to explain, and I think I did a pretty good job of it, I might have done better without the stifled laughter around me, but in the end, the message didn’t quite get through. I think I distinctly heard him muttering,”Don’t – like – photos – honestly?!”. But I suppose the others teachers explained it to him afterwards. Me being vain and me hating pictures, it all adds up.

On a whim, I decided to take on a writing challenge. I just saw a couple of familiar faces on the trifecta home page. And decided this would be my next post. So, tell me what your views on this, frankly hasty, story I came up with. Though if you’re expecting something deep and thought provoking … don’t.

The rules are something like this…

On to the word. This week we are using Tales From the Rhoen’s suggestion. We want between 33 and 333 words from (and including) the third definition of the word:

He saw her before she saw him. The sight wasn’t pretty. The weird girl everyone kept talking about, weird was definitely an understatement.

He had heard before that she was enrolled in his class. But she had never showed up during any of the lessons, so he had just disregarded the hype as an urban rumor.

Pulling himself together, he marched on. He slid the door open. But the moment he entered the class,”OH SHIT!”

He saw everybody with their noses in their physics books, and he remembered, today was the grand test the physics teacher had been fussing over since Christmas. “I’m dead.” ,he thought with his mouth dry.

He sat in his usual chair, drinking in the scenery of the breath taking green forest that rose up along with the mountains. Stretched across the horizon, it was soothing as always.

The test began too quickly. He didn’t even have time to skim through the first page. He sat there, with the pen in his mouth, gazing out the window. If he was gonna go down, he was going down with a smile. He absentmindedly passed a smile to the teacher who was looking at him suspiciously.

Then it arose, writhing inside of him. With a gurgling sound only he could hear. He knew what was coming before it did. He braced himself. Looked behind him, to his shock, he saw the same weird girl sitting, or rather dozing off behind him. He thanked his stars that she was asleep.

I know how to do this. Gritting his teeth and giving himself moral support, he opened it just the right amount, not too tight, not too wide. And then, with the force of a steam engine, the gas escaped his anus. It took concentration and will power to keep the hole open just the right amount so that there was no sound. He sighed with relief. It was over.